Side Stories and Cinnamon
by Rabbiht
Summary: Lately, Axel has been leaving the castle to go whoknowswhere, and Roxas has been noticing. They've been dating for a while, but Axel still won't tell. It's a story of Axel's past and how he came to be. Some Yaoi


Alright, so I had a pretty cool idea about what Axel's past life could have been like. And don't message me saying that this doesn't follow character. It **will, once I get into it. **Plus, if you lost your memory, I bet your personality would change too. So this is Axel's side story. (A/n) Axel is still with the organization and this does contain some yaoi Axel x Roxas. Oh, yeah, Roxas is still with the organization.

The boy with golden hair slept peacefully, as Axel put on his hooded cloak. He would leave again tonight. He took one last sweep of the room and of the boy before taking his leave. Axel walked past the mirror, taking account of everything he saw, hesitating only slightly before moving past the long mirror. He put his hood up and strolled out of the castle, casually wandering towards the town.

He makes his way down the streets of the shopping district, unseen by anyone. His movements are brisk and his strides are even. "Sorry guys…" He doesn't look back towards the castle he emerged from.

He turns down an alleyway and makes his way to a wall; he pauses making sure there aren't any eyes upon him. Sensing no one he walks through the wall to the other side. He hums quietly to himself while sauntering down a dirt path taking no note of the countless stars above him or the soft wind blowing his cloak into a gentle dance, for he's seen it too many times. Of course to a nobody, they don't mean anything anyway. "Why, now, of all times? God, what do they want?" He continues to hum.

Finally, he reaches the end of the lane where no wind is blowing and no stars can be seen. In front of him a large castle most grandeur and luxurious. Behind him is nothing of importance at the moment. He places his hand on his hip and uses the other to cup around his mouth. "Oi! You called and I'm here now, so let me in. I've got other things to do, che."

The door opens only enough so he's able to get inside. The hallway he entered into is pitch black, but he's been here before, everything has been set in memory. One, two, three, four doors, he passes them and enters into the fifth. This room is dimly lit, the light coming from a small carousing lamp in the corner. A man heavily wound with clothing speaks to him. "Yeah, I get it. Where again?" the man's mouth barely moves. "Alright got it," He listens again, "Oh, this? Che." He lifts up a part of the black cloak. "I like it. He grins and goes to leave, exiting one room and entering another across the hall. A mirror stands there, the only item in the room. He walks up to it and stops abruptly. "If you could break I'd smash you in a heartbeat." Finding his joke funny he lets out a laugh, but it doesn't quite resemble happiness. Instead it's cold and sharp.

He steps up to the mirror, and takes a long stride through it. He finds himself on a hill. On the other side is a meadow, much like the previous one. Except there's something different about this one, it smells of pine with a hint of lilac. But once he stepped closer, the lilac smell evaporated into heavily wooded smells thick with fragrance. Tall grasses surround him, engulfing his lower half. He breaths deeply in and briefly smiles a true smile not plastered on his face for deception, a rare occurrence.

A small cottage sat on the bottom of the hill, a one-story log cabin of sorts. A few pine trees surrounded it; the woods themselves set further back towards the horizon. Here, the sun has also set, but the stars are not yet visible. A chimney emits a pillar of smoke, a fire burning in the fireplace inside. "Time to work." He sits on the hill and waits, closing his eyes and letting his other senses control him. He looks past the innocent view, much like a painting, past it and focuses on something else. Eight men, quickly walk down a lane towards the peaceful cottage carrying weapons of variation; from swords to clubs and spear, resting in their owners' hands. "Now the fun begins."

He swiftly runs through the grass, making sure to not make any sounds, stealth is his greatest power. His hands burn red with fire but he doesn't dare emit any light, not yet at least. He closes in on the men, their rogue appearances distorted by unshaven faces and long hair. Their clothes are tattered, they were looking for food and hospitality and they'd do it by force. He slowed his pace down to a light walk, making sure the men see him blocking their way to the homey cottage. "Sorry, boys, but you will not see the sun again." His voice was not in the least bit apologetic, it was bloodthirsty and cold.

"Ha!" A man carrying a spear laughed, his voice rasped and his breath short. "We will dine tonight, on food and a woman."

His muscles tensed, a nerve split. A violent red glow emerged from one hand and a weapon from the other. "Che, you really aren't worried how you'll die?" The glow became less tamed, and it grew brighter with every passing second. The weapon he summoned was a pair of chakram with eight spears like points sticking out from the round base. There were four smaller rings that connected with the larger one and in the center they connected with the bar where he held it. He only summoned one, a fire blazing in the other hand. He twirled the chakram around on his fingers tilting his head back with a cold stare.

It was over before it began; he made sure not to spill any blood, for that would ruin the smell of the pine. Heaving the bodies into a fire pit, he lit it and watched each one burn, fear embedded into their lifeless eyes.

Finally, he walked back to the cabin, a warm sensation over taking him for the briefest of moments before disappearing. Through a window he watched as a blonde woman stood by the kitchen sink chopping cinnamon to sprinkle over whatever dessert they might be having. It wafted through the window to him.

At the table behind her, an orange-haired boy sat, no older than eight, picking at his salad, eyeing it unenthusiastically, his golden eyes exactly like his mother's. Another boy, only a year older raced in, a book in hand. He sat by his brother, his fiery red hair and vibrant green eyes animated with joy and happiness.

He left, the smell of cinnamon lingering on his clothes. His memory failed him, but once, not but a few years ago, he would find comfort here.

He reentered the castle, stopping at the dimly lit room, he poked his head in only for a moment his voice still holding an edge, but softness could be detected. "Thanks for the warning." And he left the castle too, returning to the meadow, then, stepping through the familiar wall into the district, lit with signs and neon lights. Finally, he approached a different castle, making his way up to his room; he sat on the bed, staring into the mirror, and the face that looked back. A face that was vaguely familiar but he couldn't grasp that memory, no matter how hard he stared, or how long he looked.


End file.
